


Words and Silences

by Shadowkat678



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Dark, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 10:46:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowkat678/pseuds/Shadowkat678
Summary: "They say words can't hurt you, yet they do. Like a thousand hot knives carving each letter, each syllable, into your slowly beating heart."For the Phobia challenge: Monophobia, an acute fear of being alone.Also for the Proverb Challenge: The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.





	Words and Silences

**"Words and Silence"**

**By Shadowkat**

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_Disclaimer: I do not own this character, nor the world in which he lives, nor the series for which he was created. I'm trying a new style here, and I'd love for you to tell me what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcom_ e. 

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They say words can't hurt you, yet they do. Like a thousand hot knives carving each letter, each syllable, into your slowly beating heart.

Emotions are weakness. You can hear their voices scream those words, hammering the lesson into your head over and over and over again as you stand there, dwarfed by their shadows. Yet you're still too young, too weak, to speak against them.

You're too afraid, and you hate yourself for it.

Worse than words is the silence. The silence of your brother, six years old, as he watches from the staircase with fear in his wide, young eyes. Yet Regulus' lips remain unmoving. As if sealed shut by your great aunt's sewing needle last she visited. It's the silence of your cousins, even your favorite, as your mother chases you from the kitchen. No one moves as a china cup strikes the back of your head. No one reacts as it rips a howl of pain from your throat. No one speaks as a broken shard cuts long and deep.

Nine years old and even then they resent you. The white sheep of the Black family. An anomaly they can't control. Toujours Pur. Always Pure. That's your family's motto, but to them you're nothing more than a blemish on cousin Narcissa's perfect skin. Even at that young age you see them for what they are. That anything pure about your lineage shriveled up and died generations ago. Only two care, and even then it's them over you. 

You're only twelve when first struck by the Cruciatus Curse, cast by your now late uncle who had been asked to house sit while your parents traveled out of country. Gryffindor. A lion. Red and gold instead of green and silver. It's unheard of. Blasphemy.

You don't care.

The hatred doesn't burn as he screams down at your shaking body. No. It freezes you. Agony so hot it turns to ice, and that's what he wants. To take away your fire. Your defiance. So you hold on, and use your anger as a shield.  They won't have the satisfaction of seeing you break.

When they return you can still see the small stain in the sitting room. Crimson where teeth pierced flesh as you tried to bite back the screams. They know, you're sure of it, but no one speaks. Not surprising. After all, your uncle's always been known for his anger, and when flame ignites bomb something's bound to explode. They had to know that. But you're a lion. They'll never make you into what they are.    

Age fourteen. Home and school don't mix, and it'll stay that way as long as you can manage. Your friends won't know you're almost beaten, and so you joke with them. Pretend with them. Laugh with them even as Bellatrix sneers across the Great Hall. You cling onto that laughter like a life raft. Damn if you let them ruin this too. At Hogwarts it's different.

Then again, nothing lasts forever, and it's only natural that James is the first to find out. The boy with the mischievous grin and impish hazel eyes. He walks in as you're changing. Spots the newest scar sticking out against the white of your neck after Christmas break. It was a warning from your father. A present for speaking against his views. For going against what was expected. Demanded. 

Of course, he doesn't believe you when you try to lie, and you really do try. He's always been good at seeing through you like that. Behind the mask no one else even knows you wear. The act is up, and you start to shake as the realization sinks in, tears forming even as you try to fight them back. You hate yourself for it, for showing weakness, but they won't stop. Won't slow.

There's no pity in his eyes when you look at him. Just a rage you've never imagined him capable of holding. He knows now. That you've lied. That your not as strong as you pretended to be. It's then you know you've lost him. The first person besides Regulus or Andromeda to ever look at you with anything but contempt. Will Remus follow? Peter? If so, you'll truly break. Shatter like so many pieces of china on a tiled kitchen floor.

Already you can see the cracks spreading. Growing as shifting shadows and fog-like hands reach out to choke you from the darkness. You can hear them. Sweet but menacing voices whispering into your ear.

Emotions are weakness, worthless, obsolete, they say, and they're right. Going numb would be so much easier. Feelings are a curse, and they hurt. Merlin they hurt. 

You wait, but there's no sound of a slamming door. No screaming. Without warning, warm, thin arms wrap around your still shirtless body, even as tears continue to fall from grey eyes. You flinch, instinctively pulling away from the unexpected touch, but he only grasps tighter, and after a moment you let yourself collapse. Just once. Just once you'll let someone see you broken, and only because you can't find the energy to glue the pieces back together. Just this once, and only because you're tired of fighting.

Just once, you promise, and only because it feels good to finally let go.

When the others find out there's no judgment in their eyes. No accusations for your weakness. The darkness is still there, lingering at the corners of your mind, but it doesn't feel as heavy now. Maybe they're right when they say everything is lighter when you're not carrying a load alone. Maybe your family was wrong. Maybe that's what makes you different.

Maybe sharing the burden doesn't make you weak, but stronger. 

Sixteen and you feel the rain, like sheets of cold needles as you run into the night, hauling your school trunk out into the downpour behind you. From the front steps your mother screams, and you can picture Regulus standing there. Silent once more as she hurls threats at your retreating form. You imagine she'll be very happy to blast your name off the family tree the moment she steps back inside, and the thought even evokes a small smile, grim as it may be. If this is what family is, you're more than happy without one.

With no plan and only the smallest hope, you walk away and don't look back. There's nothing left to see.

Once more your best friend saves you, and as you stand there soaking at his doorstep, you know you'll never be able to repay him for it. More than that you know he'd never ask you to. Yet, as you're brought inside and the holidays drag on, sweet old bitterness still comes to pay a visit.

James knows your secrets, but he'll never understand how it feels. How it hurts.You watch their smiles. Their laughter. Their joy as they sit around the table. He has parents that love him. That would die and even be tortured so he could be safe. Your family would never do that. Never love you like parents should. Even if Mr. and Mrs. Potter treat you like a second son you'd never be so lucky. No matter who surrounds you, in some ironic, bitter way, you'll always stand alone. 

Sixth year and you want to hurt him. More now than ever before. Severus is nothing but a snake, striking out from the weeds and sinking his fangs into your heal. Everything about the sneering boy is a reminder, another snub in the face, and you hate him for it down to your very core.

Snape does strike eventually. At the quiet boy with scars so much like your own. It was as if he'd struck at you, and your inevitable temper burned.

He would have been happy to be born in your family. Thrived there, even. People like them were all the same. Ruining lives and crushing you beneath their shoes as if you were nothing more than a pesky insect to be squashed. They'll even grin as they do it. Laugh as they scrape you back off into the dirt.

Just like he did with Lily.

The prat didn't deserve someone so kind and selfless. He'd turned as soon as he was forced to choose between himself and the girl that so adamantly defended him all those years. You knew he would. They'll leave you behind as soon as they're bored of you, and they won't spare a single glance back.

You've seen it before, and in that moment, you swear to never let him do it again.    

So you tell him the secret and smile as he saunters off. The bloody arse thinking himself so clever. As if he's actually managed to one up you. As if he even could. If he only knew. You're not thinking right, but you can't drag up the energy to care anymore. Eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth. After all, your just returning the favor. He struck first.

But it wasn't worth it, and not just because the snake made it out. The betrayed looks from the other Marauders sting more than any dark curse you could name, which is saying something. You're parents had an entire library dedicated to the subject.

This time you've really lost them. Even if James and Peter forgive you you've certainly lost Remus. The boy with a beast he should have never been forced to carry. If he'd bitten Snape then your friend could have been expelled. Worse, he could have been put down. The Ministry doesn't see him as a boy. Just a monster masquerading in human skin. A werewolf. A beast.

Something different. That's what it always comes down to, isn't it? Being different?

It isn't until three weeks later he'll so much as look you in the eye, and you can't blame him for it. Betrayal like that changes things. Pretending otherwise would be a lie. A lie no sane person with a lick of sense would be stupid enough to believe. Eventually he forgives you, but you know it won't be the same. You should have known better than to do something so stupid. You'd been trusted, and then broke your promise in the worst way possible. No amount of pleading, apologies, or desperate looks can make either of you forget. If anyone is a monster, it's you. Not him. Only a monster would hurt their friends like you did.

After school you soar through the ranks of aurors, yet still you hear the whispers behind your back. See the hostility in the eyes of your peers. Even now your family follows you, but you're not them. So what if you were born a Black? You're different, proud, and shining so, so very brightly. You'll shine like the star you were named after, and nothing can shoot you down.

But maybe Remus was right when he thought you were the spy, and you really can't be trusted. Maybe the world is right, and you're one in the same with the specters of your past. After all, the apple never falls far from the tree, no matter how it may wish.

So you fall like the apple of Eden down into the pit, and there you lay in the darkness, dreams resting in the dirt alongside your huddled form as memories turn to nightmares. 

You hate being confined. Being helpless. Being caged. You hate the shifting shadows and the dank darkness and the endless, pounding rain of Azkaban. You hate having to relive everything. Suffocating as you listen to the words, to the screams, and then to the inevitable silence. Even in quiet moments accusatory faces stay plastered to the back of your eyelids. They sneer at you. The white sheep of the Black family. The one who tried to defy the undefiable.

Betrayal for betrayal, an eye for an eye, and you've been shot down in the cruelest twist life could throw. Really though, isn't that always the case? This world is only a tragic play, and like all tragedies, fate never takes well to being upstaged.

Friendship won't save you this time, and in truth it never has. It was all a deception. An illusion clung to by a desperate and naive child grasping for something he couldn't have. 

That thought hurts worst of all. Alone. You're alone. The most terrible word in any language. Alone is hell, but you grew up in hell. So maybe it doesn't matter.    

They say words can't hurt you, yet they do. Like a thousand hot knives carving each letter, each syllable, into your slowly beating heart.

Emotions are weakness. You can hear their voices scream those words, hammering the lesson into your head over and over and over again as you stand there, dwarfed by their shadows. Anger boils as you listen. Bubbling lava waiting to erupt and burn down this house of nightmares until it's nothing but grey ash at your feet. Yet you're too tired, too broken, to speak against them anymore.

You're too afraid, and you hate yourself for it.

Now, like so many pieces of china on a tiled kitchen floor, you've finally shattered. Ironic how things work, isn't it? You flew too high and close to the sun, and, like Icarus, found yourself only mortal. 

The fire is out, Sirius, and you will burn nothing. All you are is a sculpture of ice. Cursed to be frozen in an endless loop of memories. Of words. Of silences. 

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**A/N: Second person present tense is pretty hard to do, but overall I really like how it turned out. Comments, thoughts, suggestions? Any are fine. I hope you enjoyed...well, maybe not enjoyed, but you know what I mean. :)**

 


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